


Necessities

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gap Filler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 14:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11292987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: “It’s occurred to me,” Ross said, “that in our refurnishing of the house we have neglected some essentials.”Or: how Demelza gained a new wardrobe between 3.01 and 3.02.





	Necessities

**Author's Note:**

> Not particularly spoilery for 3.02, but set between 3.01 and 3.02. Beta-read by the lovely mmmuse.

“Demelza, I wondered if you’d be able to spare time to come to Truro with me.”

Demelza straightened and put a hand at the small of her back. She was trying to dig over another bed in the kitchen garden in preparation for seeding more herbs, but it was hot work, and she’d spent more time chasing Garrick away than actually making progress. Her hands were covered in dirt, her apron tucked up into her belt, her hair sticking to the back of her neck.

“Truro?” she echoed. Ross was leaning against the wall, looking cool and composed in shirt and waistcoat. He’d been doing paperwork since breakfast, and so hadn’t had the chance to become as dishevelled as she was. “Why ever for, Ross? If it’s the bedroom curtains again, I _told_ you, just get me anything you please and I’ll make ‘em up –,”

“It’s not about curtains,” he interrupted her, smiling the boyish smile that had been absent in him for so long. The past fortnight had shown such a difference in him. No longer distracted or withdrawn from her, he seemed to have thrown himself back into their life together with vigour and a renewed joy for the simple pleasures of being in their home, in their lands, with their son – and with Demelza, too. They had laughed together, these past few days, as they had not laughed since before Julia had died. And loved – oh, they had loved, since that awful night of the black moon, that night when she had been so terrified that she still did not have him wholeheartedly. He had come back to her, and committed to her, and since then there had been more _love_ between them, both physically and emotionally. There had been some difference in their lovemaking, some renewal of the peculiar mix of affection and desire that had existed between them before. It filled her with joy to think of it. 

There were still times when she doubted, occasions when for a few moments Ross was lost in thought again, and she knew it was not about the mine or the house or Jeremy. But his renewed affection for Demelza seemed so sincere, his determination to enjoy life so pleasing, that she could feel her lingering doubts fading away with every passing day.

“Well, then?” she demanded. 

Ross didn’t answer at first. He pushed himself off the wall and wandered across the garden towards her. He kissed her mouth, and her forehead, and when she closed her eyes, he kissed each eyelid. Demelza’s heart felt full to bursting. She had never thought to have this again. Then he touched the hem of her jacket, and the cuff of her right sleeve, and she began to suspect she knew what he was about. 

“It’s occurred to me,” he said, “that in our refurnishing of the house we have neglected some essentials.” She pursed her lips, lifted an eyebrow at him. His voice was full of laughter, and she would not curtail his amusement by speaking until he was done. “The parlour looks finer than it ever did,” he went on, “and our bedroom, and I’m glad to have a guest bedroom presentable again.” He took hold of her hands, despite the soil on them, and still Demelza held her tongue and waited. “But there is something far more important that has yet to be addressed,” he said. “Namely, the mistress of Nampara.” The amusement was fading away, and she recognised the firmness of his jaw, the resoluteness in his expression.

“Ross,” she began, patiently, “it can bide a while, especially now I’m with child – soon I’ll be too fat for anything, anyhow.” Ross inhaled to speak, but Demelza carried on. “I’ve my good red dress, still,” she said. “That’s had hardly any wear to speak of. And my blue jacket is well enough for going in to Sawle or even Truro.”

“The elbows are nearly worn through!” Ross protested.

“They’re not so bad as that,” she smiled. “And this jacket and skirt is good for farm work –,”

“I will be hiring more men, soon enough,” he threatened, “and then you’ll be doing no more, save your own garden.”

“Ross.” She squeezed his hands and reached up to kiss him. “I need nothing more,” she said, when he allowed her to escape, “and there’s too much to do for me to be gallivanting off to Truro just because you’ve got some whim to –,”

“To see my wife appropriately dressed? Yes, indeed, quite some whim of mine,” Ross laughed at her. “And I’m afraid it’s a whim you’ll have to indulge, for I shan’t take no for an answer. Either you come with me, or I go to Mistress Trelask by myself and choose, and so you’d run the risk of nothing being to your taste.”

“Last time you bought me a dress, ‘twas the loveliest thing I’d ever seen,” Demelza said, softer now, unable to keep up the teasing tone of the conversation as she remembered that beautiful silk ball gown. She’d only worn it once. It was in a chest in the attic, now, put away as too painful to look at – more for his sake than hers, but she’d put it away without him needing to say anything at all. The ball and the frock were all tied together with Jim Carter’s death; she could never remember the one without the other. Still, the dress had been lovely, so very fine, the way the silk had rustled as she moved, making her feel as if she could dare to join those fine folks at the ball, even without Ross at her side.

Ross kissed her forehead. “Well, my love,” he said, “come with me to Truro, or I’ll buy you a dozen just the same, and you’ll wear silk for feeding the chickens –,” – he started to laugh again, and so did she – “– and baking your bread, and chasing after Garrick when he digs up your turnips –,”

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza managed to say through her laughter, “oh, Ross, you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” He dropped her hands and turned as if to go, to ride to Truro that moment and carry out his threat. She exclaimed and grabbed at his sleeve, only realising afterwards that she would leave dirty marks on it. 

“No, Ross! No, don’t – I’ll come to Truro, but don’t –,” She was cut off as he turned back to her and gave her an exuberant kiss. Demelza loosened her grasp of his shirt and felt a great sigh come heaving through her whole body. She was so happy. She’d never thought she would have this happiness again.

“Today,” he said, when he let her go again. “This afternoon, or you’ll find some excuse to wriggle out of it. I’ve business there anyway.”

“I – yes, Ross.” There would be no use arguing with him, she saw. This afternoon it would be.

* * *

“At least three,” Ross said, holding the door open to allow Demelza to precede him into the shop. The bell over the door rang out, and from somewhere within the back rooms of the shop came the sound of approaching footsteps. “And one new for best, too – your old red one must be out of fashion by now, surely?”

Demelza was laughing at him when she replied. “Do you keep such a watch on fashions, then, Ross? I’d no idea. Did Prudie not tell me that you’ve had the very same coat since you were twenty-one?”

“Utterly irrelevant,” Ross insisted. The shop door swung shut behind them, setting the bell jangling again. Out of the back of the shop came Mrs Trelask, hurrying to them, two pins stuck through her sleeve suggesting that she had been at work. 

“Captain Poldark, sir!” she greeted with her usual obsequiousness. “Why, Mistress Poldark too, such a pleasure, such a delight. How may I assist you today?”

“My wife requires some new dresses,” Ross said, before Demelza could do more than smile at the woman. “At least three, and one should be suitable for visiting, parties, that sort of thing.” Demelza gave him a speaking look, but she would not dissent in front of Mistress Trelask – a fact upon which Ross was counting to save him from imminent objection or retaliation. “And anything she needs to go with them,” he went on. “Cloaks, hats, ribbons…whatever is needed.”

“Ross,” Demelza said quietly. Ross smiled blandly at her, secure in the knowledge that their audience would keep him safe. Mrs Trelask was already fluttering about the shop, picking up bales of fabric and then discarding them, muttering about lace and trimmings and who knew what else. Demelza took the opportunity to grasp hold of his arm and pull him closer to her. “ _Ross_ ,” she hissed, “I don’t need any of that!”

“And I say you do,” Ross replied. “And since it would please me greatly to see you in a new frock or two, I’m sure you’ll oblige me in spending a little of our new wealth on yourself, for once.” Her jaw worked, her lips pursed. He was certain that several choice retorts were running through her mind. Thankfully he was spared hearing any of them by Mrs Trelask, who came back bearing a bolt of red cloth and one of blue, which she showed to Demelza while offering a constant stream of commentary. “The red,” Ross suggested. “And now I’ll leave you for a while, Demelza – I’ve business with Pascoe.”

“No, but Ross –,”

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he overruled her. “I trust that will suffice?” Ross didn’t wait for an answer. He ducked out of the shop, and away from his wife’s ire, as quickly as he could manage. In fact he had no business with Pascoe today. His whole purpose in coming to town had been to buy Demelza some new things, but there was certainly no way he was going to spend an hour – or more – in the dressmaker’s shop while Demelza chose fabrics and ribbons and dithered, as he knew she would. She always did. He’d never known her to be able to pick out a fabric or a hat or a cloak without endless hesitations, endless weighing up of the benefits of this cotton over another, the cost of this hat compared to that. Ross wanted to see her in new outfits, knew he would admire her no matter what she chose, but he had no particular desire to be made party to the actual decisions. Not unless he returned and found that she hadn’t taken him at his word and furnished herself with sufficient accoutrements to go with the new dresses.

There was no market today, so Ross had planned to visit Pascoe to sign his bank account and then perhaps to the Red Lion for some refreshment. But as he crossed the street, his eye was caught by another shop, one he had not had occasion – or means – to venture inside in some years: Mr Solomon’s jewellery shop. Ross hesitated. He glanced back at Mistress Trelask’s shop, with its display of velvets and lace. He couldn’t see Demelza inside, but he didn’t need to see her to know what she would say. He knew exactly what she would say. He could picture her expression with utter clarity. And yet he was tempted. 

Ross went first to Pascoe’s bank, so that at the very least he would not be a liar. He signed his account book, was pleased by the balance, but did not see Pascoe, who was busy with another client. Then Ross returned to Solomon’s shop, still with most of his allotted hour left to him. He could hardly spend the whole of his remaining time there, but Demelza deserved a few trinkets, and he could easily afford them.

He emerged some while later, having spent only a little more than he had planned, and with a discreetly wrapped parcel tucked carefully into his saddlebag. Ross wasn’t sure when he would give her the gifts, nor did he have any clear idea of when she might first wear them, but it was done, now, and he did not regret it. Demelza had had little enough proof of his feelings for her, and the past year had nearly seen the end of their marriage. He had, he hoped, begun to mend his ways and to show her how valued she was. He was not above buying her gifts to show his love. The words still came too seldom – he knew how she treasured hearing them – but this wordless pledge would please her as well, he knew. 

He had another quarter of an hour until he was due to return to Demelza, or so Ross estimated, but he found the wait wearisome, and idled away only another five minutes before venturing back into Mrs Trelask’s shop.

Demelza, as he had expected, was trying to decide between two different colours of cloth, though he was pleased to see some choices had been made. 

“Take them both,” he suggested, as the shop door swung shut behind him. “And don’t forget you must have a best dress too, of silk.” He smirked at Demelza, who looked as though she was barely able to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at him.

“That’s chosen,” she said primly. “And a cape to match, and slippers.”

“Good.” Ross put his saddlebag down and touched her elbow briefly. “And?” he prompted. Mrs Trelask began to talk about ribbons and trims and Mistress Poldark’s peculiar desire for plain fabrics, but Ross, who had never had any patience for the woman, didn’t pay her much attention. Demelza, who knew him too well to be fooled by his feigned interest, managed to poke her finger against his side without Mrs Trelask noticing. Ross winced – she had found a vulnerable spot between his ribs – and cleared his throat, effectively cutting off Mrs Trelask. “Very good,” he said. “How quickly can it all be ready? Within a fortnight?”

“Nay, Ross, t’isn’t reasonable,” Demelza said at once. 

“For an extra charge, perhaps,” said Ross, implacable. He had been remiss in addressing this before; the sooner the situation was remedied, the better. Demelza was mistress of Nampara, she was the wife of a modestly prosperous country gentleman. He would have her look the part. It had been made clear to him at Caroline and Dwight’s wedding just how shabby Demelza looked in comparison. A few extra shillings, or even a guinea or two, was little enough to pay to speed along the making of her new dresses.

Two gowns would be ready in a week; another in two weeks. And a new coat, and a hat ready to take away with them today, and a quantity of linen for Demelza to have fresh inner garments, and six yards of lace for trimming. Ross paid a little more for the speed, Mrs Trelask fluttered speedily around the shop murmuring about measurements, and Demelza gave Ross a look that foretold a lively debate in his near future.

* * *

“Ross, I did not need even half of what you bought today,” Demelza said.

She had refrained from discussing it on the ride home, for they’d come at a brisk pace to be back in time for Demelza to supervise supper preparations and Jeremy’s bath, but all the while she had been thinking. Now Jeremy was bathed, fed and in bed, supper was over, and Ross was idly leafing through a newspaper and occasionally reading a piece aloud. When she spoke, he glanced up with a wry expression, as if to say he’d expected some outburst and was amused by it. 

“As you already know,” he said, “I disagree.” She could see that he was fighting a smile. She wanted to be nettled by it, to be irked that he found this amusing, but she couldn’t manage it. There was some part of Demelza that was still girlishly delighted at being bought new clothes, and the return of two of her brothers into her life – and her brief visit back to the cottage in Illugan – had brought back all the old memories that she had thought long since faded. Those old memories made it all the more delightful, that Ross should have wanted to take her into town to buy her some new frocks. It was still such a novelty, even now after all these years at Nampara, to be able to go into a shop and choose whatever fabric she liked, to be made into fine dresses fitted just for her. And beyond that, there was the peculiar pleasure of knowing that Ross had been paying attention to her – _properly_ paying attention, enough to notice the state of her clothes, to see that the elbows of her blue jacket had been wearing out and that her red striped one was fit only for housework. 

“And as the thing is done, there’s really no point discussing it,” he added. 

“But to insist on them so quick,” Demelza said, knowing she was weakening her position but unable to fight against that logical point. “There was no need, truly.”

“You’re the one who pointed out that your measurements may change soon,” he returned. “Though you never seem to, until later on.” Demelza touched her stomach, unable to keep from smiling, and her smile grew wider when Ross’s gaze flicked downwards and a pleased smile graced his own face. “At any rate,” he said, after a few moments had passed, “you’ll need the things sooner rather than later, to get any wear from them before then. And then they’ll wait for after.” He glanced her over with keen scrutiny. “You’ve not grown stouter yet, anyway, so I don’t see why you can’t wear the new dresses for another few months, still.”

“It’s not far enough along to be growing fat,” she said. “I told you soon as I knew. Another seven months, I think it shall be. November, or thereabouts.” Ross nodded. “So it’s early yet. And so far I never have put much fat on before halfway through. With Julia, I lost weight afore I gained.” The mention of their lost child was no longer as painful as it had once been, but it still gave another pause to the conversation. They met each other’s eyes in shared remembrance. Then Ross shifted a little, and gestured at the mantelpiece.

“I bought you something else,” he said. “You might as well have it now, to get all of your protests out of the way in one go.”

“Oh, Ross, you shouldn’t, you spent that much at Mrs Trelask’s.” Demelza rose and went to investigate. The small leather case had not been there earlier, and she recognised the jeweller’s stamp on it. She had seen it once before, when Ross had bought her a necklace to go with her yellow silk gown for the Warleggan ball. “You said you had business with Pascoe,” she accused him, picking up the case and turning to look at him. 

“I…signed my account book,” Ross prevaricated. “He was busy at the time. There was nothing else that could not keep.”

“In other words, your whole purpose today was to buy me new things.” Demelza shook her head and fought a smile. He shrugged, and gave her no answer, which was answer enough in itself. “Oh, Ross, really.” 

Ross stood up, and came to her, and kissed her. Demelza cupped his cheek in her hand and closed her eyes. He kissed her mouth, and her cheeks, and then her mouth again. Then he let her go and gestured at the leather case in her hand.

“Open it,” he said. She obeyed, and was silent. She touched the necklace with the tip of one finger, and felt emotion welling up in her throat. “It’s not exactly like,” Ross acknowledged. “But the jeweller has a good memory, and he said it was close.” Demelza nodded. It was close; it was indeed very like the only other necklace he had ever given her. The second piece of jewellery she had ever owned, after her wedding ring, and it had gone three years ago, sold to try to stave off bankruptcy. She had seen it go willingly, for it meant keeping Ross out of debtor’s prison, but she had never quite forgotten. It had cost him a hundred pounds, she recalled. She wondered how much this had cost. He must have spent so much on her today, on clothes and this necklace, and she knew what he was trying to say with it all. “Do you like it?” Ross asked her. There was a note of vulnerability in his voice, perhaps detectable only to Demelza who knew him so well. “He had plenty to choose from – he may take this back and you may choose another, if you –,”

Demelza cut him off, flinging her arms around him and holding him as tightly as she could. Ross made a surprised sound, but then he wrapped his arms around her and embraced her just as tightly. 

“I like it very much,” she whispered to him, after a while. “’Tis so dear of you, Ross.” She meant more than she said, and Ross knew it, for he hugged her tighter. 

“I’m glad,” he said. And he meant something else, too – just as he had meant it with taking her shopping, and buying her the necklace. But Demelza didn’t need him to say it; the words were unnecessary.


End file.
